


Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye

by memymo



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:04:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1263979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memymo/pseuds/memymo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was the last one of the lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye

> _Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye_   
>  _Cheerio, here I go, on my way_   
>  _Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye_   
>  _Not a tear, but a cheer, make it gay..._

He was the last one of the lot. Who have thought he would outlive the great Dakin? That bastard was always too stubborn to give up, but then, who would have thought Lockwood would died first?

Softly, like a wind, it caressed him, the melody of "Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye", like a warm embrace, a blanket of memories and yesteryear. He requested them to play it everyday long time ago, keep replaying it again and again. Lying on his bed, he looked around at the stark whiteness of the room, frightened at the lack of distinct color and personality. Wearily, tiredly, he closed his already blurred eyes, letting himself be carried away by the music. His fingers moved on the mattress, out of synch, slowly, trying to remember those afternoon spending practicing in the music room. He smiled.

He dreamed. He saw Sheffield again, and his nostril filled with the familiar smell of fresh grass, of wild daisies and cold stones. The road, the church - everything was the same as he remembered. He saw them, standing right in front of Cutler's, frozen at the age of seventeen, eighteen, forever young, and full of dreams and hopes and energies and desires. They were all there, same as so many years ago when they tried for Oxbridge. Stood in front with his hands in his pockets, the smirk pasted on his face, Crowther has this pissed off look on his face, and his black eyes convey the unsaid message of "You're fucking late." Akhthar stood there, a small smile playing on his lips, the pencil tuck safely in his ear, next to Timm, who smile was bigger than he remember (he couldn't anymore). Lockwood stood back, cigarette between his lips and Rudge looked clueless as ever. Yet, what really catched his eyes was him, the one, who he remembered so clearly not many years ago, has slipped between his hand. David Posner, his youth forever the same, stood there with his bright smile and soft sandy hair and he couldn't help it but cried. And he saw more of them, Mr. Hector with his two thumbs up and Mrs. Lintott and Mr. Irwin with his smug face. He even saw Mr. Felix with his sour face kept glancing at an obviously uncomfortable Fiona and Mr. Wilkes and Mrs. Bibbly. But nothing, nothing could tore his eyes away from the one David Posner.

"Come on, mate. You're late already." He heard Dakin yelled, and David stretched his hand out. And he took it, without hesitation, felt the warmth against his own hand, and without thinking about the consequence, he kissed David right there and then, to the cheering and wolf-whistles of his friend. Looking at David flushed face, and breath in the smell of fresh grass, his heart called out -  _home._

...

...

The nurse quietly turned off the CD player, not that she has to be quiet, but it just a habit developed from working many years in the nursing home. Wrote down the time of death, she looked at the old man and the smile on his face, she allowed herself a small smile. At least he has gone to a good place, in peace.

Closed the door behind her, she stalked down the white hall, in silence.

...

...

...

> _Give me a smile I can keep for a while_   
>  _In my heart while I'm away_   
>  _Til we meet, once again you and I_   
>  _Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye_

Scripps woke up the smell of bacon and eggs and the oh so tempting smell of coffee. Stretching, he remembered his dream last night. Quite a dream, he thought, but nothing could stop him from enjoying his Sunday, with the sun streaming from outside the window and the bird chirping and the sound of David singing softly in the kitchen. And when he kissed David, who tasted like strawberry jam and butter, he forgot about it. It was just a dream. After all, he has better thing to do with his deliciously looking boyfriend.

It was just a dream, that won't happen many years from now.


End file.
